A Midnight Record
by Lechery
Summary: Smut! A little voyeur discovers what Fang and Lightning get up to at night.  I know it says drama/romance in the genre, but it isn't really. It's just smut. There's no smut category .


A Midnight Record

Disclaimers: FFXIII is not mine. No infringement intended.

Pairing: LightningxFang

Spoilers: None

Rating: M, serious M. This is smut and SMUT only. I figured I'd finally live up to my name.

A/N: No real point to this story, Light and Fang just get freaky. I suppose I was a bit concerned that Light is always portrayed as an ignorant virgin while Fang is apparently a (promiscuous) sexual predator. Sorry guys, I just don't see it. Other way around maybe :P

OOO

Wires and batteries – the stuff of machines and unfeeling, unthinking energy – makes my brain tick. I doubt any of them know this: that I can think and feel, that I have secrets of my own, but regardless here I am, rolling around on the floor where I'm kept, looking up with little cameras for eyes. And it is here that I see them: the soldier and the huntress, passing the steady night hours on the mattress, sometimes talking, other times playing some game they seem to both enjoy. In an effort to understand, I observe them and to preserve my memory of them, I activate the recording button on my console. White numbers in the corner of my vision quantify the time, date the spectacle. Tonight is another wordless night.

The huntress removes her sari and her shorts, pads around in the black tank top she wears beneath it. In response, the soldier removes her jacket but keeps her bra on, keeps her skirt, keeps her jewellery. The map of their game is already drawn. The soldier – Lightning as she's known – sits on the bed; the huntress – Fang – stands between her open legs and bends to capture her lips in a kiss. The soldier's hands run up and down the huntress's thighs, up and down her ass and come to rest on her waist, pull her close. Fang's fingertips glance the soldier's lips; her thumb rubs against the bottom of it, tongue snakes out to follow its path. Lightning smiles but the huntress swallows it. Her tongue plunges into Lightning's mouth; a soft moan escapes her throat.

Lightning's hands knead the Pulsian's thighs, the wet smacking sound of their lips echoes in the silence. Her mouth trails a path along the huntress's jaw, sucks at the drumming pulse on her neck. Fang groans, arcs her body toward the searching mouth. The soldier lifts the tank top at the hem, dips her head; her tongue flicks an erect nipple. Fang gasps. Her hands reach for the soldier's head and grasp fistfuls of her hair. Lightning seizes the nipple between her lips, tenderly suckles her and runs her firm tongue along its surface, back and forth, around in circles. An incoherent moan tears from Fang's throat; her hand pins Lightning's face to her body. Her voice becomes constant, sensation overwhelming her as the soldier works over her nipple.

Fang tugs Light back by the hair and the nipple slips from her lips with an audible pop. She cups her face in her hands, brushes a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and leans into it.

"I want to feel you inside me," her voice is resolute, thick with desire.

The soldier licks her fingers and massages the velvet folds between Fang's legs, primed with fluid. The Pulsian's eyes flutter closed, her head tips back. It is the realm of the physical alone that she is slave to now, only conscious of the tactile. Fingertips rub up and down, part her, and play up along the swollen flesh to tease the places that send shocks of pleasure through her, a small jolt of pain. She grinds her hips into the soldier's hand, demands to be invaded.

Light takes her hand away, spreads her fingers to gaze at the web-like strings of cum that manifest between them. She is fascinated by it, sucks the soft flesh in the recesses, the fingers, the nails until she's consumed all of the Pulsian's wetness from them. The huntress watches her with hooded eyes.

The soldier pushes her back and stands, coaxes the huntress onto the bed. She begins to turn, but Lightning places a hand on her shoulder and stops her, keeps her back turned until Fang falls forward onto her hands and knees. She crawls toward the pillows and Light forces the Pulsian's head down, presses her cheek onto the pillows. Her bottom is raised on her still-bent knees. She is vulnerable, open to violation.

"Don't move," the soldier says.

The huntress obeys and Lightning walks toward a cabinet, rifles through it with determination. She bites her bottom lip as she does this, finally locating the object of her focus. She steps into it, tightens the leather straps that criss-cross underneath and overtop her buttocks, a sizable member dangling from the front of it. The huntress is motionless, refuses to turn around.

Lightning climbs atop the bed and gets on her knees; her hands flank Fang's hips and position her body. The soldier bends, mouth licking and massaging at the base of the huntress's spine, eliciting soft gasps from the Pulsian. Then suddenly the soldier rises, turns her palm upward and spits into her hand, brings it down and rubs it furiously along the member in a fist, coating it with wetness. She pinches the tip of it between her thumb and index finger and runs it along the slippery folds of flesh in front of her, gathers the fluid that's primed her path. The flesh was rendered so pliable, so soft, a subtle buck of her hips would pry the Pulsian's lips open, penetrate the entrance and slip lethargically inside, widening little by little until she could plunge no further.

Fang moans, the head of the member poised just outside of her. "Please, Light."

The soldier pushes into her slowly; a cry comes from Fang's mouth, muffled by the pillow.

"Good?" The soldier asks.

Fang nods.

Light moves her hips back and forth, sluggishly at first as Fang's body adjusts to her intrusion, sensitive to all her motions. She was always delectably simplistic: the Pulsian. The soldier counts her thrusts; each one becomes a bit more restricted as Fang's body tenses, as her muscles clamp around her.

"Stay, stay," she murmurs. She wants Light to be still, to draw the moment out, to toy with her.

The soldier pulls back until just the tip is swallowed up inside the woman's body, and then she plunges violently back in, smacks Fang's bottom with her hips as the two meet. The sound of Fang's response is incoherent. Pleasure? Agony? Light does it again. Fang's body trembles, she has risen up onto her outstretched arms, her spine level. Her eyes are closed as she's gripped with ecstasy. A long, hoarse groan sounds through her clenched jaw; her body jerks back and forth and rides the invasive member strapped between Lightning's legs.

Lightning is still for a moment, lets the huntress wring the last waves of pleasure from her ebbing orgasm. She pulls away, the stiff member snaking out of Fang's body. The huntress removes her top and tosses it onto the floor, rolls onto her back. The soldier has already busied herself: she scrapes Fang's thickened cum from the toy between her legs, eats it off her fingers. Fang watches her, caution taken to lick every drop of it from her palm, from the member at her legs, between every valley of her fingers. Light registers the gaze upon her; a faint smile tugs at her mouth.

"More?" She asks.

Fang runs her tongue along her swollen lips, ruby-tinted from biting them, from the rush of blood. The huntress nods her head and spreads her legs.

The soldier kisses the Pulsian's knee and traces a path to her inner thigh, delighted to find Fang's desire sticking to her flesh and splayed across her lower body, flung vicariously in all directions from their more rigorous activities. When she finally reaches the swollen lips, parted from her former abuse, she brushes her mouth over them, her tongue, indulges in the softness, the suppleness of her body. Fang is wet and her flesh velvet from their little game. Lightning thrusts her tongue inside and suckles hungrily to sap the wetness from her. Fang seizes fistfuls of the bed sheets in each hand, squirms beneath the soldier's insistent mouth.

Their eyes are closed; there is no sight required for their game. Light drinks of her, feels the muscles pulse around her tongue, once, twice. Fang senses the familiar coil buried deep in her belly; it rises the more she grinds against the soldier's face. The hot, exploring tongue stops. Fang's eyes suddenly open, disappointment in her expression. Lightning suppresses a chuckle, repositions herself over the Pulsian's body, arms on either side of her head, the member caught at the entrance of her slick folds.

She dives inside her; Fang cries out. Wonderfully simplistic. Again, the soldier counts: one, two, three. Several more thrusts and the huntress begins to quiver, eyes slipped shut, her face a mask of agony though it is pleasure that ripples through her, pleasure that crests and overflows inside and sends her hips bucking wildly against Lightning's hips. The soldier's mouth clamps onto an exposed breast, nipples red and sore. Sweat breaks out along the Pulsian's forehead.

A hand reaches out and flattens against the soldier's stomach, halts her movement. Lightning pulls away and nestles into the crook of the Pulsian's neck. Fang strokes the soldier's back, frowns when she feels the fabric of her bra strap. Fang unfastens it and Lightning sits up, unbuckling the harness and stripping away her skirt and panties.

The toy is discarded; Lightning is not particularly fond of it. Fang lies beneath the soldier and their mouths mingle, exploring. The Pulsian tastes herself on the soldier's tongue. Lightning's arms reach for the headboard and she anchors herself there. Fang coaxes her upward until her knees are on the pillows and flanking her head. The huntress grabs the soldier's waist and guides her body downward. The soldier's lower lips are fused together and the Pulsian stretches her tongue out, curves it in at the soldier's entrance, separating the lips as her tongue flicks through them. Wetness floods the space between; Fang laps at it, swirls it around. Lightning groans and bites her lip; her hips grind into the Pulsian's mouth.

The huntress takes her time, working over the lips, over the sensitive mound at the top, darting her tongue inside. Two of her fingers snuggle into the soldier's body, firmly fucking her, tongue racing in and out of her. Lightning's movements become frantic, her moans more constant. She is close, the tension building inside of her. The huntress stares up at her, watches as her eyes close, as her breasts heave with each exaggerated thrust. Walls close around the Pulsian's fingers; she had her now, haltingly tipping from that guarded edge into abandon. Another thrust and she falls into it, crashes through the merciless wave with incoherent groans; epileptic shudders mark her orgasm.

The soldier sags against the headboard and the huntress pulls her down. That is where they stay for the rest of the night, wrapped together beneath a blanket.

I feel quite exhausted; much of my storage is eaten up by videos of my two subjects. I don't have any theories on their natures yet; they don't reveal much to anyone in the waking hours of the day. It is only in the night, in these fleeting moments that they reveal their intimacy, their connection. My battery is running on reserve. I power down and recharge until morning.

OOO

"Good morning, Bhakti!" I hear her say. It is Vanille. My keeper.

_Good Morning! _The message appears on my screen. She picks me up, searches a few menus, pauses suddenly.

"What's all this on your hard drive?" She asks.

I am helpless as she scrolls to the video files and hits _play_.

END


End file.
